Trojan
by Miss Bright
Summary: Sequel to the film. Robert Fischer stepping down as CEO and handing over control to Peter Browning wasn't exactly what Saito had in mind, and it's up to the team to fix it. Eames discovers that some bonds just can't be broken, and that what really makes a prince isn't a king.
1. Failure

**A/N: **Sorry for disappearing again! It's my final year at school, so the workload has been intense. This is just a little something I've written for extra credit for my fantasy literature course; Inception was in the curriculum. If my professor, S.N., happens to be reading this, greetings from one of the best parts of the Internet (though I'd be pretty horrified if you decide to peruse my other fics). Anyway, this ficlet is just over 6,400 words and counting – I'm thinking of revising parts of the middle and end, so I'll just be uploading it in chunks.

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Failure**

* * *

"My father was a great man."

Robert Fischer's voice rang strong and true. Eames could practically see the surprise rippling through the room. But what really threw everyone for a loop was the rare smile on Fischer's face. Since when did Robert Fischer think so highly of his father?

_Since us, _Eames answered the unvoiced question_._

"And his legacy," Fischer continued, "is just as great. It always will be."

There were many nods of agreement, particularly from the employees of Fischer Morrow. Some were even beaming. Others just looked politely confused. The reporters from The Sydney Herald leaned forward eagerly, recording devices clutched in their hands.

It was a week after the funeral of Maurice Fischer, and Robert Fischer had finally called a press conference to address the future of the company. During this time, the stock price had stalled at eighty-four dollars per share. Eames was no financial analyst, but he would have gambled all his poker winnings that today would not be a good day to invest in Fischer Morrow.

Eames straightened in his chair and folded his hands, looking very much like the litigation consultant that he was supposed to be. While Cobb was off enjoying his newfound freedom with his children, and while Arthur had followed Ariadne back to Paris to bond over croissants and architecture, Eames was here, back in Sydney, to make sure that there were no loose ends.

To make sure that the job was done.

"He lived a good and successful life, up until the very end. But we weren't on the best of terms, as some of you may know," Fischer declared, tipping his head toward the reporters. There were a few embarrassed titters. "I've tried relentlessly to follow in his footsteps. But where did that take me? An MBA and several acquisitions later, my father was still not satisfied. Actually, he never had been."

The room stilled. Eames held his breath.

"Fischer Morrow was his creation. His empire. Not mine – no matter how much I added to it. I was too ambitious for my own good. All of that ends here. From now on, I will no longer follow in his footsteps. And instead of standing on the shoulders of giants –"

Fischer's smile grew.

"– I have decided that Fischer Morrow will no longer be mine."

A loud and excited buzzing filled the room. Eames felt as though he was missing the punch line. Wasn't this supposed to be the part where the prince snapped his crown in half? Or rather, in twenty-odd pieces?

Fischer gestured behind him, where a pleased-looking Peter Browning had already half-risen from his chair. "We have already discussed this with our board of directors. My godfather, who has been at Maurice Fischer's side for more than thirty years, knows this company inside-out. Together, they have steered it through troubling waters to become the largest energy conglomerate today. I cannot think of anyone else more suited to this position. Therefore, it is my pleasure to announce that we are appointing Mr. Browning as the new CEO of Fischer Morrow."

Eames could not help it. He leapt from his seat as though it was on fire. Fortunately, his outburst went unseen as dozens of others around him did the same, except for entirely different reasons.

"Mr. Fischer! What will you be doing instead?"

"Mr. Fischer! Are you retiring?"

Robert Fischer stared out at the frenzied crowd. The expression on his face could only be described as dazed.

"I will be following my dreams," said Fischer.

Eames slipped out of the conference room under the cover of all the commotion. His phone was already pressed against his ear.

"Arthur, we have a problem."

* * *

Arthur was understandably furious. "I thought you were keeping an eye on Browning and Fischer. How could you not know what was going on?"

"Browning's consulting team is only contracted. We aren't allowed to sit in on their meetings. Fischer obviously wanted to keep this a secret among the executives until he could make it public himself!"

"You waited out the week with Fischer when we got back to the first level," Ariadne reminded him. "Did he give any indication that he was going to just give the company away to his godfather?"

"No," Eames said, frustrated. "After the funeral, he must've told Browning that he didn't want Fischer Morrow anymore. Browning must've pounced on that like a cat."

"Saito is not going to be pleased," Arthur muttered.

"How are we going to fix this?"

"We? You came up with the concept. Leave us out of this!"

"Arthur, if Saito expects us to fix this, it'll be on all of us," Ariadne pointed out before Eames could verbally throttle the point man. The twenty-three hour flight to Paris had left him irritated and severely jet-lagged. He was in no mood to deal with Arthur's remarks.

"Okay, okay," Arthur conceded. "But I still maintain that we don't deserve to get dragged back into this."

Eames groaned, pacing back and forth in Ariadne's living room. If Eames had taken the time to study the space, he would have noticed that her apartment was quaint but barely furnished.

"Did you call Cobb yet?" Ariadne asked, her eyes wide with concern.

"I couldn't reach him. I left him a message, though."

"What about Saito? How are we going to deal with him?"

"We can't do much else but wait for him to contact us," Eames replied. He picked up the remote from Ariadne's coffee table and turned on the television. Peter Browning's face was plastered on practically every news channel. "It's been a day already. Actually, I'm surprised that Saito hasn't phoned yet…"

There was a knock at the door. The three of them exchanged stunned glances before Arthur snorted.

"No," Eames agreed.

Ariadne strolled over to the door and peered through the peephole.

"It's Miles," she said, dispelling the tension. She unlocked the door, and greeted Cobb's father-in-law with a curt but relieved, "Professor."

"Ariadne, Arthur," said Miles. "And you must be Eames."

"Pleasure to finally meet you," Eames responded, and they shook hands.

"Why are you here, Professor?" asked Ariadne. "Did Cobb send you to talk to us about Fischer?"

"No," said Miles, looking grave. "But someone else did."

Ten minutes later, they were all crossing the Bir-Hakeim Bridge in silence. The warm spring evening felt suffocating. Or perhaps it was just the way Arthur kept shooting Ariadne worried looks, and the way Ariadne squeezed his hand in response. Eames rolled his eyes.

* * *

As it turned out, the reason that Saito had not called was because he preferred to discuss things in person.

"Mr. Eames," said Saito as Miles and the trio descended the polished steps of the professor's lecture hall. "I can't say that it's good to see you again."

"Likewise," Eames retorted.

Saito acknowledged the others. "How fortunate that you are here. I was just speaking with Professor Miles about Cobb's failure to perform the inception properly."

Miles frowned. "And I was just telling him that he should not have involved any of you. He should have gone to the Australian government, or even the World Trade Organization, months ago."

"International anti-trust enforcement does not exist yet. I couldn't afford to wait, and I still can't," Saito insisted.

"Yet you could still afford to buy an airline," Eames heard Ariadne murmur.

"We shouldn't have tried the inception in the first place," Arthur snapped. "Ideas are never that simple. You just can't sabotage a business using emotion, not when other powerful people like Browning are involved. We're just lucky that Browning didn't have Fischer declared incompetent, or we'd have his sanity on our conscience."

"Well, it's out of our hands now," said Eames. "There's no point in trying to get to Fischer again, Saito. He's relinquished all control of Fischer Morrow."

Saito raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about getting to Fischer?"

"No," Arthur said immediately. "We don't want anything to do with it, whatever it is. You can have your money back, we don't need it."

"Speak for yourself," Eames said, alarmed. He had already spent a good chunk of it paying off his debts.

"What do you have in mind?" Ariadne asked Saito a tad too curiously.

"Extraction, and hopefully some good, old-fashioned blackmail," Saito declared. "It occurred to me that those who defend themselves against extraction might also be using it to their own advantage."

"Speaking from experience now, eh, Saito?"

Saito chose to ignore Eames. "If my theory is correct, then we can use this information to blackmail Fischer Morrow into selling off some its subsidiaries until they are no longer a threat. Or we could go straight to the press with the information and topple their empire that way. Interpol will shut down their operations for sure."

Arthur folded his arms. "So you think just because Fischer had his subconscious trained that he, his father, or even Browning had used extraction before? Not everyone is underhanded like you, Saito."

"You can't deny that it's possible, though," Eames said thoughtfully. "We already know that Browning is power-hungry, but not as much as Maurice was. It's possible that Maurice used the services of an extractor to both teach his son to defend his mind and to help build his company. Extraction can pretty much be used for insider trading and blackmail."

Saito nodded. "The only reason Fischer Morrow is so big today is because of their acquisitions over the last five years. None of them were hostile takeovers. A coincidence? I think not. Perhaps they all had an incentive to be so cooperative."

"Wait a minute," Ariadne cut in. "If all of this is true, then it's likely that Browning had his own subconscious trained as well. How do we deal with something like that? We barely hung in there, facing Fischer's!"

"We?" Arthur repeated helplessly, turning to Ariadne.

"We will be prepared this time," said Eames.

"What about Dom?" said Miles sharply.

Eames shrugged. "Cobb's the best."

"No. We can't take him away from his family now. We leave him out of this. That's my only condition." Arthur looked resigned.

Miles's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you, Arthur."

"I've done a few extractions before. So has Eames, of course. We can do it ourselves, just the four of us."

Saito did a head count. "You mean three…"

For the first time that evening, Arthur let a little smirk lift his lips. "No, four. We can't do this without you."

There was a pause.

"I'll have you know that four is an unlucky number," Saito mumbled.

"Then it's a good thing the rest of us aren't superstitious, right?"

"Nope."

"Not at all."


	2. Gift

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan

* * *

**Chapter 2: Gift**

* * *

"To the future." Robert raised his glass, and Uncle Peter clinked it with his own.

It had been three days since his announcement, and his godfather had finally found room in his schedule to pencil in a celebratory dinner. Tonight they were dining at a seafood establishment just overlooking the harbour.

After a few quiet minutes of eating and drinking, his godfather cleared his throat. "Robert," Peter began, "you're sure that you don't want to stay on board as a consultant or something? I'm not complaining about the promotion, but I'm still having trouble understanding why you wanted to throw everything away in the first place."

He had been expecting this. "I'm not throwing everything away," Robert said with a twinge of annoyance. He took a bite of his salmon. "I still have my stock options. I'm still filthy rich."

"Yes, but it was all so sudden…"

"I told you, my father would've wanted this. He wanted me to be my own man. That's why I'm going back to school."

"Yes, to explore your options." His godfather looked perplexed. "Not that I don't have faith in your other talents, but business is in your blood."

"You know that my father started off as an engineer?"

"…That's true."

"I rest my case."

His godfather pursed his lips but offered nothing else on that topic. The rest of the dinner went smoothly. They talked about sports, something that Maurice Fischer detested. Robert was just about to ask his godfather if he wanted dessert when a waiter appeared with a bottle of red wine.

"Excuse me, Mr. Browning, but a Mr. Saito sends his congratulations."

"Saito…his name sounds familiar," Robert murmured.

"Yes, he's the head of Proclus Global." Peter eyed the bottle with pride. "Is he here tonight?"

"He's upstairs," said the waiter. "He's also extending an invitation for you to join him for dessert."

"Oh, but I...hmm..." Peter trailed off and gave Robert an uncertain look.

Robert nodded, relieved that he no longer had to endure another half-hour of small talk. Strange that what usually came so easily to him now exhausted him. "You go right ahead, Uncle Peter. I'll take care of the bill."

His godfather bade him good night and left with Saito's gift of wine. Robert paid the waiter and exited the restaurant in higher spirits. He could breathe again.

* * *

Eames returned to Saito's private room, where Saito and Ariadne were waiting. "Browning took the bait. He's on his way up."

"And Fischer?"

"He's going home. He just sent Arthur away with the cheque." Ariadne nodded, and Eames slipped into the bathroom to wait.

The gambit they had decided on was the Trojan Horse, in which the Mark was lured into the lion's den with a gift while under the illusion that they had called the shots. This false sense of security in turn lowered the Mark's subconscious defenses, as their mind would be more relaxed before entering the dream state. The group determined that it would be easiest to strike during a casual dinner with Fischer, in which Peter Browning's mental state would be at its calmest. Eames, who was still under contract as part of Browning's litigation consulting team, had managed to sneak a look at Browning's schedule while his secretary was at lunch.

There was a murmuring of voices outside, followed by a clatter of plates. Arthur had brought up the dessert. The dessert, of course, was customized just for Browning.

After several minutes, Ariadne peered into the bathroom. "Let's get this party started."

"If I didn't know better, Ariadne, I'd say you were enjoying this."

Ariadne offered him a mischievous smile. "Well…"

Browning's sleeping form was propped upright in his chair before a half-eaten chocolate mousse cake. The sleeping pill they had used would keep him knocked out for fifteen minutes, max. With a diluted and less potent form of Yusuf's Somnacin compound – no way in hell were they going to risk dropping into Limbo again – that meant they had approximately two and a half hours on the first level to perform the extraction. Saito would keep guard while the trio went under.

Ariadne retrieved the PASIV that was hidden underneath the table and began setting up the IV lines. Eames sat down at the table across from Browning's body and rolled up his sleeves for Ariadne. Arthur took his place next to Browning and gestured at the timer. "Saito, remember to play the music when the clock's down to a minute."

Saito nodded, and Eames put on his headphones.

The last thing Eames heard before slipping into the dream state was a mechanic whoosh as Saito pressed the trigger.

* * *

Eames trudged through the hot white sand, holding a newspaper in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other. He plopped himself into one of the fold-out chairs that were waiting for him and Browning just beneath a pair of palm trees.

Ariadne had deliberately built a peaceful, wide open space as to not trigger a feeling of claustrophobia or anxiety in Browning's mind. In the scenario that Browning's subconscious would suddenly feel the need to retaliate, Ariadne had also created a maze-like jungle spanning most of the island's inland. Rising high from the heart of the jungle was a mountain with a concealed cave. If Browning had anything to hide, his mind would fill the cave with the information he was trying to protect.

Eames gazed around him, his ears alert. Only the sounds of lapping waves and chirping birds reached his ears. There were no militarized projections in sight. Browning's sunbathing projections looked like average, harmless tourists. So far, so good.

"Ah, Robert, there you are." Browning strolled up from the shore and sat down in the other fold-out chair. He glanced at the newspaper that Eames was holding. "Anything interesting today?"

"Not really. A few pipeline projects, a report on global warming... Oh, there's this article on corporate espionage." Eames made a show of flipping through the pages. "They say that an estimated $250 billion is lost to the theft of trade secrets each year. And that's only in the United States."

Browning shook his head. "What a pity. Good thing Fischer Morrow doesn't have to worry about anything like that."

Eames saw his chance. "Not with our security," he commented. Browning merely nodded.

"Speaking of which," Eames continued, lowering his voice, "I want to hire them after I start up my new company. What was their name again?"

"Whose name?"

"The extractor who trained me."

"An extractor? What on earth are you talking about?" Browning seemed completely nonplussed.

Eames narrowed his eyes. Alarm bells were going off in his head, but he decided to forge ahead. "You know. Sub-security. Dream-share."

"Dream-share?" Browning looked bewildered. "But dream-share is illegal! How did you manage to find someone to teach you?"

Eames studied his subject's face. As a forger, he specialized in body language. Unless Browning was as good of as an actor as Eames, Browning really was clueless. Besides, Browning would have no reason to keep up pretenses with his own godson if they were actually partners in crime.

"Well, my father hired them for me," Eames improvised. "I didn't know who they were, exactly. They never told me their name, and I have no way of contacting them again."

"But why would you want to?" Browning demanded, a flush creeping across his already ruddy face. On cue, Browning's seemingly harmless projections of tourists simultaneously turned to glare at Eames. Eames willed himself not to panic. He could not allow his disguise to slip, not even for a second.

"Uncle Peter, my father was the one –"

"Don't try to use him as a scapegoat. I know he would never stoop so low as to require the services of a... a thief! How dare you tarnish the Fischer name with your unethical practices? Maurice...your father would be disappointed if he were still alive to hear this!"

Thunder rumbled overhead.

Eames gritted his teeth. The tourists were closing in, slowly but surely. The good news was that it did not appear that Browning had any real sub-security training of his own. The bad news was that agitated projections were still dangerous.

"I'm going to get another drink," said Eames as soothingly as possible. "When I come back, we'll discuss it, okay?"

Browning stared at Eames. Sadness was etched into every line of his face. "Robert, there's really nothing to be said."

Eames felt a pang of betrayal on behalf of the former heir. His godfather had unknowingly thrown in his face the exact sentiment that Maurice Fischer had shared with an eleven-year-old Robert grieving his mother's death. Eames walked away without another word.

To his annoyance, Browning's projections followed him. Eames threw a glance over his shoulder. The tourists trailed through the sand behind him, their laser-sharp gazes fixed on the forger. It was time to put Ariadne's maze to good use.

Eames instantly dropped his disguise of Robert Fischer, channeling all his energy instead into a fast sprint that took him to the edge of the dense forest. Another quick glance told him that he was out of the projections' sight, so he ran deeper into the jungle toward the direction of the mountain. He took out his walkie-talkie and buzzed through to Arthur. "How's it going?"

Arthur's voice was hushed. "Something is definitely hidden up here. There are a lot of projections hanging around, and some of them are armed. We managed to evade most of them, but Ariadne had to kick one off a cliff."

"Browning doesn't have formal sub-security," said Eames, pushing aside a particularly large leaf. "If his mind can generate sub-security on its own, then this secret's got to be bloody important."

"Damn. Where are you? You sound like you're out of breath."

"I'm on my way up."

"What? Why?"

"Browning doesn't know anything about extraction. He didn't know Fischer had his subconscious trained. He got really angry, so I got the hell out of there before his projections could get to me."

"Alright. Be careful, or the dream will collapse before we can find anything."

"Arthur, careful is my middle name." Eames shoved the walkie-talkie back into his pocket and took out one of the pistols strapped beneath his shirt.

It took him a good twenty minutes to reach the base of the mountain. Eames blinked the sweat out of his eyes. The entrance to the cave was supposed to be thirty meters from the ground. He cursed silently at his lack of climbing gear. Unlike Ariadne and Arthur, he was only dressed for the beach.

Eames eyed the mountainside. The last thing he wanted was to attract unwanted attention, but it was the fastest way to catch up with the others. He picked the nearest tree and climbed it, mentally forcing its thicker branches to extend higher and higher until they formed a suitable bridge to cross over to the mountain. Satisfied, Eames hopped off the mutated tree and ventured into the awaiting cave.


	3. Heir

**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews, I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story. I'll consider writing more Inception fics once I get a hang of the fandom and schoolwork :)

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Heir**

* * *

"Eames! Get back!"

_Ariadne. _Eames only had a few seconds to take in the sight of the knife sticking out of Arthur's motionless body sprawled across the stone floor when a different female voice rang out.

"Drop your weapon."

Eames froze in his tracks and threw his hands into the air.

"I said, drop it."

His pistol fell with a loud clatter.

"Good. Now, kick it over to me."

Eames squinted through the shadows and kicked the weapon in the voice's general direction. "Who are you?"

"I should be asking you that, my dear," the unidentifiable woman responded. "You and your friends are trespassing. You do not belong here." With that, the woman stepped forward, where a ray of sunlight pierced the cave. She had her arm around Ariadne's throat and Arthur's gun pressed against the architect's temple. There was blood streaming down from Ariadne's left shoulder.

Eames stared at the woman. He recognized her from the framed photos he had once seen in Fischer's office.

"You're Robert Fischer's mother, aren't you?"

"Again, I should be the one asking the questions," Mrs. Fischer snapped, her ice-blue eyes filled with suspicion. There was no doubt about it. She had the same features as her son: the same cheekbones and the same dark hair. But unlike Robert, her skin was lily-white. "The girl wasn't so forthcoming with answers, even when I had your other friend at my mercy. Hopefully, you will be more cooperative."

Eames considered his options. If he drew his other pistol and shot the projection, he could be eliminating a potentially valuable source of information. If he shot Ariadne so that she was no longer in danger, the projection would just kill him. If he shot himself, Ariadne would have to deal with the projection on her own before she could complete the job. It depended on how badly the projection wanted to know why they were there.

The only thing he could think of was to keep talking.

"We're friends of Robert's," said Eames.

"You're lying. Peter would never allow Robert to know his secret."

"Peter," Eames repeated. His mind was whirling. "Why are _you_ protecting Peter's secret? You were Maurice's wife."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the answer became obvious. Even Ariadne's eyes widened a little.

"Interesting." Eames drew his second gun and shot Ariadne in the forehead. He could not help but cringe at the small explosion of blood. Waking up his comrades never sat well with him, not even after doing it so many times he had lost count.

Mrs. Fischer released Ariadne's now lifeless body and turned Arthur's gun on Eames. "Why did you do that?" she demanded.

"We have what we want. But now, I want a bit more. Is Peter planning on ever telling your son the truth? Or rather, his son?"

Mrs. Fischer set her jaw. "Robert mustn't find out."

"Did Maurice know?" Eames prompted. "He must've known on some level, deep down. Working late nights and not coming home and all that. Was that why he treated Robert so badly? Was that why he wasn't very upset when you died?" When he was met with silence, he went on. "Of course, he probably didn't suspect his own best friend, otherwise he never would've made him his business partner or Robert's godfather. Tragic."

With a scream of fury, Mrs. Fischer shot both of his kneecaps. Before the pain could fully sink in, Eames placed his gun against his temple and squeezed the trigger.

For a split second, the world was dark and empty. Eames took a breath and opened his eyes. Golden light, panel walls, and modern art filled his vision. He was back.

Eames ripped off his IV line and glanced at the timer. They had a bit over three minutes left till the sedative wore off on Browning. Arthur and Ariadne were already standing by the door, ready to make their escape.

"We'll debrief you after Browning leaves," Eames announced, removing the remaining line from Browning's arm and packing up the PASIV.

"Was it a success?" Saito asked him.

"In a way," Eames replied.

* * *

After Browning had woken up, he had excused himself from the room, embarrassed that he had dozed off right in the middle of dessert and that Saito had to shake him awake.

"It's getting late," Browning had chuckled before thanking Saito for his time and congratulations.

"So he didn't suspect anything at all?" Arthur asked after Saito relayed the conversation to the trio.

"No, but he did ask where the rest of his cake went," said Saito.

Ariadne sat down next to Eames. "What happened after I woke up?"

"The woman. Ariadne said that it was Fischer's mother?" asked Arthur.

"Yeah, I recognized her from one of Fischer's pictures."

"What was she doing in Browning's subconscious?"

"She's his secret." Eames paused. "Peter Browning is Robert Fischer's biological father."

Saito looked impatient. "That's very interesting, but did you get any information that will actually help us break up Fischer Morrow?"

Eames proceeded to explain to Saito that Browning knew nothing about the extraction business, much to Saito's disappointment, and that Browning firmly believed that Maurice had nothing to do with it either.

"It's still possible that Robert Fischer did it of his own accord," Ariadne suggested. "You know, to impress his father with all the progress he was making with the company."

"Even if that's true, I can't sue Fischer Morrow on those grounds," Saito said, frustrated. "We'd be implicating ourselves if we tell anyone how we found out that Fischer was trained by an extractor, and we'd all be arrested on the spot."

"How about leaking it to the press?" asked Eames. "There's bound to be some journalists who are willing to protect their sources."

"No. Fischer Morrow is too powerful. They'll just sue them blind. As far as we can tell, they've technically done nothing wrong. And not only is Robert no longer in control, we haven't actually found any hard evidence against him."

Eames shrugged. "Then blackmail Browning into breaking up the company using the truth about Robert Fischer as leverage. It'd be the scandal of the century."

"No, I don't want to risk him resigning and handing control of the company over to someone else. There's no point in blackmailing him into not resigning, either. Fischer Morrow's board of directors can just as easily fire him. It'll have to take more than blackmail to change Fischer Morrow forever."

Ariadne straightened in her chair. "Then we go straight to Fischer ourselves and persuade him to take back the company, or at least the acquisitions he was solely responsible for."

"But he doesn't want the company anymore. He's convinced that his father didn't want him to get into the business in the first place," Eames reminded her.

"Then we'll use the antagonism he's developed for his godfather from our inception and his obsessive loyalty to Maurice to our advantage," said Ariadne, undeterred. "Would the man who had raised him have truly wanted Browning, the man who had deceived him and everyone else, to head his empire?"

Arthur looked impressed. "That could work. We'll convince Robert that it's his duty to make things right. Browning played his own flesh and blood like a pawn, and it's Robert's responsibility to fix it by taking back the company and selling everything off so that Browning won't be able to leech off the Fischers' success."

"Only then will he be able to have the fresh start he wants," Ariadne added.

Eames was still skeptical. "Except for one thing. We can't use inception again. It's too soon. His subconscious would be too unstable after the first one. It won't be able to support even two levels, let alone three."

"Then we'll do it the old-fashioned way," said Ariadne.

"And what's that?"

"By talking to him," Ariadne said simply. "If Browning was able to convince Fischer into just giving him the company, I'm sure we'll be able to persuade him to take it back, or at least a part of it, to truly honour Maurice's memory."

Eames couldn't help but wonder if they were doing the right thing by exposing Peter Browning's secret. It was no longer about business, but personal matters. Yet both his colleagues seemed adamant that Browning had abandoned his son to pursue a career with a friend he had willingly betrayed. Although he seemed to genuinely care about Robert, Browning was a coward for not owning up to his paternity. Browning would deserve what was coming to him.

"Let me do it," said Eames. "I know Fischer better than either of you." It was true. Not only had Eames spent the most time with him, he had seen Robert Fischer at his most vulnerable. He knew what made the man tick.

Arthur nodded. "That's fair."

Eames turned to Saito. "You're paying us overtime."


	4. Truth

**A/N: **There will be a note at the bottom to explain certain things.

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Truth**

* * *

Robert Fischer was just settling in front of the television with a late-night snack when the doorbell rang.

"Remind me why I fired the butler," Robert muttered. He stalked to the door and checked the security monitor. His visitor seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps it was someone he used to work with; most suits looked the same to him. But this man was quite dressed down, sporting a leather jacket and blue jeans.

Robert pushed the intercom button. "Can I help you?"

The man looked straight at the camera. "My name is Charles. I was a friend of your father's. I'd like to speak with you."

After letting him in, Robert led Charles to the living room. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you."

Settling back into his armchair, Robert assessed the man seated before him. He was about his own age, late twenties to early thirties, and spoke with an English accent. Although he was slightly scruffy, Charles gave off a sophisticated air, cumulating into some rare warm professionalism. "Have we met?" Robert asked, furrowing his brow. "Were you...at the funeral?"

"Yes. And you might've seen me around the office before you left."

"I see. So why are you here?"

Charles took out his wallet and removed a photo from within its folds. He handed it to Robert. "This is yours, Robert. I found it on your desk at the office."

Robert took it gratefully, absentmindedly noting the first-name approach Charles was taking. "I could've sworn I packed everything up."

It was a snapshot of Robert's graduation. A happier, younger version of himself was flanked by the two most important people in his life: his father and his godfather. Uncle Peter was beaming. His father, on the other hand, was giving the same tight-lipped smile that he gave to reporters.

"Maurice was really proud of you, despite your disagreements over the last few years," Charles said, gesturing at the picture.

"No, he wasn't." Charles looked surprised. "Looking back, I think Dad was disappointed I didn't become a doctor like I'd always said I would," Robert explained, tracing the image of his father's serious face with a thumb. "But I have a chance to fix that now."

"Are you going back to school?"

Robert shrugged. "Hopefully. I haven't made up my mind about the field yet. Psychiatry, maybe."

Charles looked very interested. "Any particular reason?"

"It may sound silly to you, but I respect the mind's power over the body," Robert replied.

"That's perfectly understandable. You don't know how much I agree with you on that."

Robert gazed at his visitor. For some reason, he felt he could trust this man with his life, even only after knowing him for five minutes. Aside from his godfather, he didn't have many people he could talk to. Not many people understood that to grow up mindbogglingly rich, and in the shadow of the reason for his privilege, was an isolating process.

Which was why he added impulsively, in an almost conspiratorial tone, "I'm interested in dreams, mostly."

Charles leaned forward, tilting his head inquisitively. "Dreams? What kind?"

Robert hesitated, unsure of how much he should give away. "Lucid dreams. And, well...other ways to dream."

"Ah. Shared dreaming?"

To Robert's relief, there was not a single note of accusation in the other man's voice. "Yes. When I started school, my father secretly hired someone to teach me to protect my subconscious. Mind you, that was before dream-share was completely outlawed," he assured Charles. "Still, nobody else knew. My father was paranoid that my classmates would try to take advantage of me while living away from home. He paid for it out of his own pocket." Unfortunately, his father's paranoia had rubbed off in him, which resulted in his inability to form anything beyond casual acquaintanceships during university. Robert decided to keep that to himself. No reason to burden someone else with his past woes.

Charles raised a brow. "Tell me you haven't ever used extraction to get what you want, though." A sly grin formed on Charles's face. "Although, I won't tell anyone if you did."

Fischer snorted. "My father and I were both against it. That's not the right way to do business. It's not respectable."

Charles shrugged. "Well, I don't blame you for liking the whole dream scene. It was fun while it lasted."

"It was, wasn't it?" Robert murmured.

Charles was silent for a moment. When Robert was just about to offer him a drink again, Charles spoke. "Robert, there's something you need to know. It's about your Uncle Peter."

Robert grew tense as images of car wreckages and mangled limbs flashed through his mind. "Did something happen to him?"

"No, no, nothing like that. But you need to do something for the sake of Maurice's legacy."

Robert folded his arms, half relieved and half irritated. "I'm done with Fischer Morrow. Uncle Peter is taking care of everything now."

"That's the problem." Charles leaned forward. "Your Uncle Peter is not who you think he is."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There's a reason he never married." Charles took a deep breath and exhaled. "It's about time you knew. He and your mother had an affair. Peter is your father."

Robert stiffened; he could hear his own heart beat loud and fast in his ears, as though somebody was squeezing the life out of him. "I... what? Are you sure? How do you know this?" he demanded.

"I can't say, but you need to listen to me. This doesn't change the fact that Maurice Fischer was your _real_ father. He raised you. He took good care of you," Charles said urgently. Robert was too stunned to protest this somewhat true, yet certainly exaggerated, assertion. "Peter knew that you were his biological child, but he didn't want to give up being your father's right-hand man. He didn't want to give up his throne at Fischer Morrow. And now he's sitting up there, all by himself, just like he's always wanted."

"No," Robert whispered.

"If you don't believe me, you can easily find out yourself." Charles gave him a meaningful look.

Robert clenched his hands. "You mean extraction?"

"If you want. You deserve to know the truth."

"No. I don't think I could do that to him." Robert shook his head, torn between anger and denial. What did this man have to gain from telling such an outrageous lie? Common sense told him that because something like this could be easily verified with a simple test, the likelihood that Charles was lying, or at least aware that it was a lie, was slim to none. He finally summoned the confidence to make his decision. "I'll have to confront him myself."

Charles nodded his understanding.

"But then what?" Robert asked, more to himself than anything. "If you're suggesting that I should fight to take back the company... my father... Maurice wouldn't have wanted me to. It would go against everything he expected of me. Besides, Uncle Peter doesn't deserve to lose everything he's worked for." Robert, overwhelmed with confusion, suddenly found it hard to swallow. He needed Charles to understand_._ "Uncle Peter was there when my father wasn't. That much is true."

Charles looked startled for a split second, but then he recovered. "You don't have to keep the company, Robert. Just an idea, but you could just take your share out of Peter's hands and point it in the right direction – whichever way Maurice would've wanted," Charles said gently.

Robert let his words sink in. "And what would that be?"

Charles stood up, signalling his leave. "Only you can know that, Robert."

* * *

**A/N: **The next chapter will feature Peter and Robert. Eames's POV will return shortly after. Although, the next update may take a while because I have three exams over the next seven days.

Regarding the alias Eames used with Robert, it was an allusion to his real-life namesake, as per Nolan's intentions. I also purposely allowed Robert to trust "Charles" so quickly and instinctively because his subconscious trusts him. Deep down and unknowingly, Fischer associates that name with Cobb's "Mr. Charles" and Eames' face to the person who once "saved" him with a defibrillator. In this interpretation, anyway.

Also, big points for those who may have caught the Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow references!


	5. Burn

**A/N: **Thanks for all the encouraging reviews, everyone! Unfortunately, there isn't much action left in this story, just drama. There is one more chapter after this, featuring Eames and the others, just to wrap things up.

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Burn**

* * *

Robert stood on the front steps of his godfather's complex, staring up at the light emanating from the second-floor window. He was still awake, then. His _father_. Fighting back a cold wave of revulsion, Robert took a deep breath and pushed the door bell.

Peter appeared a minute later, opening the door to reveal his surprised, and then worried, face. "Robert, what are you doing here so late?"

"It's not like I woke you up," Robert said mildly. "Can I come in?" Without waiting for a response, he side-stepped the older man and entered the foyer. Peter frowned but closed the door.

"What are you doing here? It's past midnight."

"Yeah, it's way past my bedtime."

Peter looked at him suspiciously. "You're not drunk, are you?"

"No, but I wouldn't say no to a drink right now," Robert muttered, taking the liberty to make his way into the living room where Peter's liquor cabinet was located. Before Robert could rummage through it, however, Peter's hand clamped down on his shoulder to stop him.

"Robert, is something the matter?"

Robert's hand automatically drifted to his pocket, touching it to reassure himself. Before Charles had left, he had given Robert his business card so that he could reach him if necessary. Remembering the sincerity of Maurice's friend, and recalling how determined he himself had been to come over here and confront Peter, Robert gathered his courage and looked his biological father dead in the eye.

"Maurice wasn't my father, was he."

Peter's naturally ruddy face turned even darker. His lips flapped as he struggled to find the right response, but nothing was coming out. The tiny glimmer of hope that Charles was mistaken or lying winked out of existence, and Robert was instantly filled with an uncontrollable rage.

"Explain yourself," Robert whispered, "or I swear, I will walk out of here, and I will never talk to you again, except over a table with my legal team when I take the company away from you." It was a half-hearted threat, but it had its desired effect. Peter sank into a nearby sofa, looking smaller than Robert had ever seen him. For once in his life, Peter looked his age, Robert noted with a sick satisfaction.

"I didn't know until it was too late. Please, Robert..."

"When?"

"When your mother was hospitalized. Right before she died." Peter rubbed his eyes, as though he couldn't believe that this conversation was actually taking place. "After you were born, she got you tested. She kept it to herself the whole time for your own protection. Robert, please, don't..."

"Protection from what? Growing up ashamed of two parents who willingly betrayed the man that enabled them both to live so comfortably? From growing up poor, once Maurice kicked her to the curb and you out of the company?" Robert's voice grew shakier by the second. "It sounds like she did it to protect herself, and _you_. Did she love you? Did she ever love Maurice?"

"She loved the both of us," said Peter, looking and sounding so pathetic that Robert had to avert his gaze. "She loved all of us. And I loved you, Robert. I always have and always will."

"He was your friend!" Robert bellowed as images of his mother sneaking around behind Maurice's back came unbidden into his mind. It tore him apart, the idea that his mother and the man he had loved as a godfather had been so deceitful. Poor, unloved Maurice. "How could you? How _dare _you. You disgust me, the both of you!"

"I loved her, Robert, and it's something that you will one day come to understand," Peter said with a sudden steely resolve. Robert's head snapped up at the anger in the older man's voice. Peter stared back at him stubbornly, as though he were challenging Robert to question his loyalty to his dead lover. Which, Robert realized, was not doubtful.

Charles's words came back to him. _There's a reason he never married. _

The flame of anger settled into a haze. "Did you tell Maurice that I wasn't his?" Robert asked softly. "Was that why he could barely give a damn about me all those years?"

"No, of course not." Peter shook his head violently. "I was too afraid of what would happen."

"To yourself," Robert sneered.

"I won't deny that," said Peter, "but I was also looking out for you. I didn't want Maurice to disown you. You had such a wonderful path ahead of you –"

"I wasn't happy. You knew that."

"And I tried to help, son. I really did try. I was with you every step of the way."

_Son. _This time, it was Robert who was at a loss for words. He shuddered, as though he could shrug that fact out of his flesh and blood. _Son. _He licked his lips, bracing himself to bring the subject back to Maurice, the father who mattered, and more specifically, his legacy. Robert's inheritance.

Peter eyed him for a moment before blurting, "Do you mean what you said about the company? That you want it back?"

Robert's heart sank when he saw the desperate expression on Peter's face. Of course. Money was that important to him. A sense of both disappointment and rebelliousness flooded through Robert. He had been right all along.

"Why? Are you going to deny your only son his birthright?" Robert couldn't keep the ice out of his voice.

Peter looked horrified. "No," he said quickly. "I'm going to give him what he wants. What he deserves! I don't want you to hate me, Robert! I'll give you back control of the company, and we can work side by side, like Maurice and I did."

Robert scoffed at the hope shining in Peter's eyes. "You clearly don't know me that well. How many times have I told you that I don't _want_ to work for Fischer Morrow?"

"But you just said –"

"No," Robert interrupted. "I said I'd take it away from you. I never said I would take it back."

Peter recoiled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I won't stand for seeing you benefit from any of my successes. It means... it means I want you to sell off all the divisions that I had been responsible for acquiring," said Robert quietly. His hands, like his voice, were trembling. "I want you to prove that I mean more to you than the company does. I'm a fair man, and you've been honest with me, I give you that much. You get to keep sixty percent of the company. The rest will be up for the world to decide."

Peter flinched. "You can't be serious. The board of directors will never approve."

"Oh?" Robert managed to muster a grim smile. "Would they rather approve of a CEO who had earned his position through coercion?"

"Coercion?" Peter spluttered. "You just said you didn't want anything to do with the company!"

"Was I in my right mind when I first told you that, after the funeral, or was I under duress?"

"For heaven's sake –"

"Fifty percent," Robert said forcefully. "Subtracting the five highest-performing divisions that Dad had been responsible for acquiring."

Peter's face turned an ugly puce colour. "Why...?"

"It's only logical –"

"Why," Peter rasped, "are you still calling him Dad?"

Robert froze.

Peter swallowed hard. "Am I not good enough?"

_No, _Robert wanted to say. He wanted to accuse Peter of being a coward, of abandoning him for money. But it would only be out of spite. What Robert really wanted was to apologize to Peter for leading him to believe that he was no better than cold, bitter Maurice.

But he was.

Peter had been there when Robert's mother died. He had cried more by her deathbed and at her funeral than Maurice himself. Peter had taken him out to fancy lunches even though he was usually just as busy as Maurice. Peter had smiled brighter than anyone else at Robert's high school and university graduations, and now he knew why. But one problem still remained.

"That's for you to decide," Robert finally replied. "You know my conditions. Prove to me that I mean more to you than Fischer Morrow."


	6. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

Saito paid them each a healthy bonus after Peter Browning, CEO of Fischer Morrow, announced three days later that he would be splitting the company in two. Browning would continue to control Fischer Morrow, while Robert Fischer would head the spinoff, Maurice Energy, until he could find somebody else to take over. Although still impressive in size, Fischer Morrow was no longer in position to become a monopoly. Proclus Global, and the rest of the world, could breathe a sigh of relief. In the meantime, there were no unsavory rumours swirling around Fischer's sudden change of heart. After all, it would only be temporary.

"I know it was a win-win situation and all, but I can't help but wonder how Robert is doing," Ariadne mused, sipping her coffee.

"_Fischer Morrow's stock continues to soar as shareholders welcome the impending split, which analysts say will offer more opportunities for faster growth –"_

Arthur turned off his television. "It's our job not to."

"So it is," agreed Eames, although secretly he could not stop imagining Fischer mulling over every single moment he'd had with Browning with new eyes. Usually the forger dealt with business, which was cold and straightforward, and he only took on extramarital affairs when his cash flow dried up. Emotions and family matters were too messy.

However, Eames could not deny the immense satisfaction and pride he had gotten from "fixing" things. He had received a text on his work phone the other day from Fischer, containing a simple _Thank you._ Robert Fischer had clearly been able to reconcile the two clashing loyalties he held for Maurice and Peter.

Eames knew that Robert would somehow find it in his heart to forgive his Uncle Peter. After all, even with the empire dangling in front of him, Fischer still managed to honour both his guardians.

Fischer wasn't just a son. He was a leader – a prince by character, not blood.

"Don't worry, Ariadne," said Eames. "He'll be just fine."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for the support and feedback throughout the writing of my first Inception ficlet, I'm glad you guys liked it! I may or may not write more Inception in the future, since I have to take care of some other stories first.

Hope everyone has a wonderful New Year :)


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